


'Til Death Do We Part

by DilynAliceBlake (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:06:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DilynAliceBlake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Found this in my notebook, thought I would post it.  University John runs into upstart criminal king Moriarty trying to hide a body and... lends a helping hand?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Watson was emphatically _not gay_. A tumble down a flight of stairs followed by three days locked in a basement atop the broken glass he had landed on, courtesy of his alcoholic father, assured that. John was, despite that incident, very open minded about these things. He also happened to be, despite the whole, _not gay_ thing, in love with a guy. A very dangerous, sweet, often murderous guy. Murderous, in this instance, meant to be taken literally, with creativity and gruesome torture on the side.

 

 

John had been heading back to campus after a celebratory midterms-are-over pizza when he had heard a string of curses in a rather adorable Irish brogue. Helpful by nature, he had meandered into an alley to find a man even shorter (and a deal smaller) than him trying to shove a mostly gutted corpse out of direct view. John was momentarily distracted by the man’s creamy skin, highlighted by the moonlight and in stark contrast to the blood he was getting on his suit.

After pulling on the latex gloves he had at some point hastily shoved into his pocket, John walked over and carefully helped to heft the body behind the dumpster.

“Oh finally,” the man in the suit said, “I called for cleanup nearly a half an hour ago. Did you bring my—” he stopped, having looked up to realize that, whoever he was expecting, John wasn’t it.

“Who’re you?” John smiled as he stood straight, patting the corpse on the head before turning to address the Irishman. (Who, John noticed, had rather nice brown eyes, deep and intense.)

“Just a good samaratin, heard you having some trouble and thought it’d be polite to offer my help.” He peeled the gloves off, putting them back into his pocket before turning to go on his way.

“No, wait-wait-wait,” he said, Irish accent suddenly gone. “You can’t just help a complete stranger to hide a corpse and then go and leave with not so much as a howdy-doo. That’s not how it works. I’ve obviously just murdered a man, how do I know you aren’t going to try and turn me in?”

“Ah, yes, how terribly rude of me. John Watson, Medical student at Bart’s institute of London, and I’m not going to turn you in because I don’t think it’s really my business. He’s already dead, and I didn’t know him, so there’s really no point. Good luck with your cleanup crew. Ta.” John hadn’t even fully turned around again to leave before he was stopped again.

“I’m supposed to just _believe_ that? It seems rather unlikely, you have to admit.”

John sighed, impatient to be on his way. “Look, if you’re that concerned, you can walk me to my dorm. Here,” he shrugged out of his jacket, and held it out. It would be a little big on the man, with John being so much broader in the shoulders, and would clash terribly, but it was still less conspicuous than strolling down the street covered in blood.

Once the man had zipped it to cover the worst of the bloodstains, they began their walk, John leading.


	2. Chapter 2

“So,” John filled the air with pleasant small talk, having no desire to endure a half hour walk in awkward silence. “I’ve introduced myself already, you mind giving me something to call you?”

“I’m Jim,” he flashed a charming smile. “You’ll understand if I don’t provide more.” It wasn’t a question, but John replied anyway..

“Of course. Be a bit careless of criminals if they just went around making full introductions to witnesses willy-nilly.” John accompanied the banter with a playful grin.

Jim crinkled his brow and tilted his head, eyeing John curiously. “I’m not sure, Watson, exactly what to make of you. Take that as a compliment, it’s rare for me to take even a slight interest in anyone normal.”

John jerked a step back with a mock offended look on his face, exaggerating the movement playfully.  “I just helped you hide a body; which, by the way, puts me very firmly on a first name basis, especially since a first name is all I have for you. I cannot believe you’d call me _normal_.”

Jim rolled his eyes at the cheesy theatrics. “It’s nothing personal, Johnny. You’re nowhere near as smart as me, so that makes you normal. To be fair though, the lsit of people that could come close to matching my intellect is very short indeed. Why aren’t you in shock, by the way? Do you make a habit of helping strangers to hide bodies, or is it usually just your friends?”

John laughed quietly, scratching the back of his head as he began to put words to his answer. “Neither, actually.”

“Oh?” Jim prompted, intrigued.

“Yeah.” John further explained, “I’m not really in the whole crime scene, just not squeamish and you looked like you could use a hand.”

“Mmm, I see. So I was your first? You’re officially an accessory. So you can’t really say that anymore.” They walked side by side now, the flow of the conversation easy and slightly flirtatious.

“I suppose you were,” John conceded. “Accessory though? I don’t even rank accomplice?”

“Nope,” Jim said cheerfully, popping the ‘P.’ “You didn’t help with the crime, just knowingly assisted its perpetrator.” Jim pulled his phone out, making an irritated noise. He glanced at John apologetically. “One mo, just have to make a call.”

John gave him an easy smile, nodding his head forward in assent. “Sure thing. I don’t mind.”

Jim’s replying grin was a quick flash of teeth as he brought the phone to his ear, before suddenly he was all business.  


	3. Chapter 3

“Moran!” he snapped, impatience permeating his tone. “I’m going to give you one, mark it **_one_** , chance to explain, and if I am not satisfied, I’ll put you through a _meat grinder_. Because of your absence someone spotted me moving the body. What? No, I don’t need your help to take care of it. Luckily, he was nice enough to help me and even leant me his jacket. I’m walking him back, and then I need ou to come pick me up. Bring a new suit, this one will need to be burned. And don’t think you’re in the clear just because you’re my bodyguard.”

Whatever Moran said seemed to only irritate Jim further.

“Can you shoot, Johnny?” he asked John. John gave a sheepish nod.

“See?!” Jim suddenly shouted. “He’s been tolerating my presence this whole time. More than; we’re getting along swell, and he’s much less mouthy. You aren’t the only competent person available. Do your job Moran. You’re on thin ice. Another slip up like this one and I’ll have Johnny-Boy help me clean up what’s left of you!” Jim hung up with a surprisingly civil “Buh-bye” before returning his full attention to John.


	4. Chapter 4

“Sorry about that,” he said, “I’m told the hot-cold thing can be a bit disconcerting. I’m rather changeable.”

“I don’t mind,” said John, who actually found it a mixture between exciting and endearing. “I can see why it might make people nervous, but being passionate isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“Oh,” Jim said softly. “Even if that means I change my mind and decide to kill you?”

“It’s nice to know that it isn’t currently in your plans.” John shrugged. “If you do, you do. Of course, if you murdered me in a fit of temper, I don’t think that mouthy bodyguard of yours would ever let you live it down.”

“Well,” Jim said ponderingly, “I suppose you’ve got me there.” He looked speculative. “You know,” he said, “that is the most convincing thing anyone has ever said to be me in favor of letting them live. Most people just snivel and beg. It really is rather pathetic.”

“Hey, if pointing out that my death would ultimately annoy you will keep me alive than it makes more sense to do that than to waste breathe sobbing. Less painful on my pride, too.”

John reached his right hand out and twined his fingers with Jim’s.


	5. Chapter 5

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Bit forward there, Johnny-Boy.”

John blushed and indicated ahead where a woman was walking her dog. “The jacket will seem less out of place this way.”

“Not a lie, but a rather flimsy excuse.”

“I’m not gay,” John said.

Jim seemed skeptical. “Well, gay or not, you are _interested_.” The statement held too much confidence to be a question.

John nibbled his lip. “Am I really that transparent?”

“Johnny, we’ve been flirting for the past half hour. If you hadn’t made a move soon I’d have been honestly disappointed.”

“Yes, well, I was understandably nervous.”

“Because I might kill you?”

“Because you’re bloody gorgeous!” John’s cheeks flamed at the outburst.

Jim stopped walking to lean in close to John, peering at him inquisitively. “ _Really?_ From what you know, I’ve gutted a man, or at the very least had him gutted, threatened to put my bodyguard, whom I'm on relatively good terms with, through a meat grinder, and could kill you with only minor annoyance. But the thing that makes _you_ nervous is the idea that I might turn you down for a date?”  

Jim grinned delightedly, eyes bright.  “John Watson, you are a wonder.”


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Warning: Mentions of Risk Aware Consensual Kink. If this is an issue, I politely question your reasoning concerning the decision that _this_ was the pairing you were going to read about.**

 

John and Jim spent a blissful few months dating.  John was not at all put off by Jim's work, sometimes even making suggestions, or, on one memorable occasion, assisting with the torture.  This lead to a rather poorly timed make-out session, Jim accosting John and leaving Moran to finish up by theirself.

That incident was, or course, was nothing compared to Jim's face when John dropped the word 'masochist' into their usual flirting.  Jim actually choked on his drink. 

"Oh my god Johnny, you can't just spring that on a guy over dinner!"

John, however, did not seem the least bit apologetic in his reply.  "Oh, I'm sorry, would you rather I not have told you?"

Jim glared and pointed an accusing finger.  "Blatant insubordination!  That's it Johnny-boy, pick out a safeword, _Daddy's gonna teach you a lesson_."

 


	7. Chapter 7

"I don't need a safeword," John deadpanned, gathering up the dinnertime dishes and taking them to the sink.

"Humor me," the crimelord insisted.

"Alright, ah, keylime."

"Keylime?  Really?  Do you even _like_ pie?  That's patently ridiculous!" Jim exclaimed incredulously.

"It can be ridiculous.  I'm not going to use it."

When all was said and done, John was right.  He hadn't needed the safeword.  He would, however, need the welts cleaned and disinfected, his cracked ribs bound, his arm put back in it's socket, and a grand total of twenty-four stitches.

"I must say, Dr. Watson, I'm impressed," Jim said, sounding it.  "I really thought the whipping would do it."

John huffed out a laugh.  "Oh, it did it all right."

Jim's gaze traveled up and down John's form speculatively.  "Yes.  Yes I suppose it did."

John blushed and cleared his throat.  "Ah, yes, well.  Spot o' telly?"

Jim allowed the rather transparent change of subject, and they cuddled up next to each other on the couch being domestic.  Then Moran spotted them and made obnoxious gagging noises, only to get pelted with popcorn for their trouble.

"You're so mean Moran," the genius pouted.  "As soon as Johnny gets better I'm having him beat you up."

The lack of gruesome death threats must mean that Jim was in a good mood.  Moran pondered the scenario for all of twelve seconds before leaving for a brain scrubbing of the bleach variety.  Or, at the very least, erase the mental images with copious amounts of alcohol. Jim's snickering following the bodyguard down the hall.

"Did you see, Johnny-Boy?" Jim giggled gleefully.  "Moran went positively green. For a moment there I thought I might have to call someone to clean up some throw-up!"

Moran wouldn't.  Such a weakness would've been inexcusable.  That didn't mean there was any lack of nausea.

John mostly felt fondly exasperated at his lover and the life he had been swept up into.  But with James leaning blatantly against his hurt ribs, his cuddling both cruel and affectionate, John thought that overall things could be worse.


	8. Chapter 8

John Watson was in L-O-V-E love with criminal mastermind James Moriarty, and for him that meant certain things.  Things like commitment on a larger scale.  So John began considering ways to broach the subject of moving in together, and even started looking at rings.

Jim, of course, would have noticed immediately had he not been preoccupied.  You see, James Moriarty was in a rather serious emotional entanglement of his own with the doctor, and for him that meant an entirely different set of things.

Love was a liability, one he had already let get too far.  John was his weakness, and the thought of someone threatening something Jim considered his made his rage flair and his blood lust stir.  He did his best not to imagine John coming undone at the hands of some amateur trying to make him talk.  He clenched his teeth at the idea of someone threatening John's life to get to him.  There was only one solution.  John had to go.


	9. Chapter 9

Jim was, unfortunately, already rather in too deep for the solution to be killing of any sort.  No matter how humane the ways he entertained they still filled him with dread and protectiveness.  Obviously Jim couldn't do it directly.  He needed another way.  A way that smacked him in the face rather aggressively when Jim imagined John Watson in any sort of uniform.

 _Of course_.  Of course.  Jim would send John away.  Out of his reach and the reach of his enemies.  Plant the idea of a military career in his doctor's head, then break Johnny-Boy's little heart so that he would run away to make himself useful.  Jim told himself that if John happened to die in the line of fire it would simply make his life guiltlessly easier, and tried to begin putting his plan in action.  


Except, of course, that it didn't work.

John _knew_ , of course John knew, that Jim was screening his mail.  A few well spaced military pamphlets may as well have been a written "I don't want you here" card.

There was yelling, oh-so-much yelling.  Shouting and breaking things (hearts among them) and Jim refusing to say  _why_  he suddenly wanted to send John away.

Feeling sorely unwanted, John threw all of his cards on the table with the reckless sort of abandon of one with nothing left to lose.

"Fine!" John shouted.  "If you want me gone from your life I'll oblige!  If you're bored with me, you could've just said as much.  But I have a condition.  I'll do what you want.  But I'll not have you replacing me."  He shoved his hand down into his pocket and withdrew a plain little black velvet box, which he then chucked at Jim rather aggressively.

"Marry me.  You have to marry me, if you want me gone."

Jim found himself once again surprised by John, and though he didn't show it, he was touched.  His clever Johnny was ensuring that he would always have an unquestionable place in his life, even if they never saw each other again.  ' _Husband,'_ Jim thought, and a shiver of arousal ran up his spine.  John was still angry at Jim, of course, but he recognized that fire in his eyes.  The agreement was silent and understood, and the sex that sealed it was angry.

Jim did his best, during the small wedding (whose officiator would mysteriously die, and whose only witnesses were Moran and Harriet) to appear cold and unloving.  John had to believe that Jim was only doing this to be rid of him, though they would both cherish the rings and meaning behind them for the rest of their days.

When they made love that last night they would have together before John left for the army, consummating their vows, for John it was a sad lament for what could have been.  And for Jim, it was a goodbye.  Each touch of the skin, every gasped breath, all the thousand little kisses exchanged that night were goodbyes.  It was slow, every moment cherished and committed to memory.

John would slip out in the morning, when Jim was biting back tears as he pretended to be asleep.

Both thought that it was the most difficult challenge their relationship would ever face, and the hardest thing they would ever have to do. 

Neither factored in the sort of havoc that the Holmes brothers could wreak, nor the notion that they might one day be drawn together again.

  


**A/N: Shhhhhhh I'm half-a-bottle-of-wine-tipsy posting.  I FEAR NOTHING!!!   *Presses Post-Without-Preview***  


	10. Chapter 10

S. Moran was one of the most world renowned assassins the wrong side of the law, second in command to Moriarty, never wanting for work or for money.  

S. Moran was seriously concerned for the criminal mastermind who was supposed to be doing things a lot more...sinister, than what seemed to be going on.  This concern was _not_ borne of any sort of compassion for the Spider of a man.  It was purely professional, because work was suffering a slump to match the genius's.

Jim hadn't moved in nearly a week, and the attention he was giving to those files was creepy in its reverence.

Anyone who values their life does not question the actions of Jim Moriarty.  Addressing the matter directly was out of the question.  The phone rang twice before an Irish lilt lit up the other end, inquiring in it's tone.

"No- yes, I know you're out of the country.  Yes, I understand I remember, only call if it's life or death-  No- Stop, stop shrieking- No you do deserve this vacation- YOU MISSED YOUR BROTHER'S WEDDING AND NOW HE'S HEARTBROKEN AND I DON'T KNOW HOW THE HELL TO FIX THIS!" The next part was whispered, as it daren't be spoke out loud. " _He's crying, Janine._ "

The dial tone sounded faraway, and the quivering of Jim's shaky breaths much too close.

A sigh escaped.  "I'm taking some time off, Boss.  Contact me when you've managed to pull yourself back together and need a gun."  Emotions were not part of Moran's work agreement.  Some time living like a civvie could be just what the doctor ordered.


	11. Chapter 11

Thirteen hours of flight time and some odd minutes later, Janine's shouts could be discerned three floors down.

"This is not healthy, Richard!  You cannot spend your every resource tracking down a man who apparently wasn't even important enough to introduce to your sister!"

"Don't call me that!  That isn't my name; that's never been my name!"  Moriarty ran a hand through unwashed hair, bristling.  Secretly, Janine was pleased to see him riled, counting the movement as a victory. "And I _told_ you I'd met someone!"

She clenched her teeth in frustration.  "Sending an email saying you met a boy at work isn't the same thing as _getting married_ , Jamie!  Fucking hell, what is so special about this guy that you would let your empire crumble?  You might as well have kept him here, if you were just going to give it all up anyway!"

Previously dead eyes began sweeping swiftly side to side in unseen calculation.  "You're right."

Relief flooded through her.  "Thank you!  When do I get to meet him?"

Jim was momentarily flummoxed.  "Meet him?  Of course you aren't going to meet him."  Jim stood and shuffled the files, straightening the mess only to drop it all carelessly into the trashcan next to the desk.

"No, you're right, if I sent him away and don't continue my work then it was for nothing.  I have to focus on my career.  Then only way it will ever be safe to bring him back is if I don't have any enemies."

"Jim, what?  You can't _not_ have enemies, even if you took over the entire criminal world there would still be governments, resistance."

"So I'll just have to neutralize those threats, too."

"You can't _possibly_ be suggesting that you're going to take over the world."

Touching his finger to his chin, he made a noise of contemplation.  "I think I'll start with China."


	12. Chapter 12

China went well, so Moriarty moved on to other places and other crimes, wreaking havoc and weaving his web so tightly that no threat could possibly escape.  He became quite an aficionado at blackmail; even more so than he was before.  He recruited ruthlessly, and refusing nearly always meant death or ruin.  He wasn’t completely heartless, of course.  He wasn’t just dragging random civilians into the criminal underground.  Well, not with their knowledge.  Not every mailman had to know what was on their mail truck.  But Jim was surprisingly willing to oblige those who wanted to just stay out of it.  So long as they were willing to look the other way.  In a neutrality of sorts, many were allowed to exist outside of the game entirely, on the condition that they didn’t interfere.

Sherlock Holmes was interfering.

So, of course, was Mycroft, but what they had was a constant dance, delicately deadly.  They exchanged resources, projects, and territories as was necessary or benefited them.  It was part of the Job.

Sherlock, however, was not a business rival, and so actually _was_ a problem.  Sort of.  Well, he could be, if the poor sap ever sobered up enough to solve more than one crime at a time or perhaps start to see the connections between them.

Jim didn’t devote too much surveillance to Sherlock.  He had an ongoing exchange with Mycroft involving his knowledge of Sherlock’s more unsavory habits, companions, and whereabouts for vague knowledge of England’s current war campaign in Afghanistan.

Mycroft didn’t have a clue why Jim would want or need something like that, and it probably drove the Iceman up the wall trying to figure out what nefarious things Jim used such knowledge for.  Some nights Moriarty spent laughing at the knowledge that Mycroft had not one single shot of guessing the reason.

Jim hadn’t kept track of where John was, but he did keep track of where the soldiers were in general.  He kept a blank sheet of poster board on the wall, picturing the map in his mind, and keeping updated tac markers of where _all_ the soldiers were.  He stared at it sometimes for hours, looking at each campaign mark separately and thinking, ‘ _My Johnny could be there._ ’

It wasn’t a very good use of time, business-wise, except that since no one else knew what the paper was for, they couldn’t call him on it, (though very few would dare), and also Jim rather thought it kept the casualties within his own web to a minimum and gave him some peace of mind.

 

**a/n: update; jim is still a sap in love, time is rolling by, and sherlock won't stay a minor hindrance forever ;)**


End file.
